


A Healer In A Tree

by icylook, ltoadreamer



Series: The Flight of Us [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Idiots to Strangers to Lovers to Friends, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 14:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20311393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltoadreamer/pseuds/ltoadreamer
Summary: The Blight was certainly something to bring together allies, and in some cases, lovers as well. This is how a particular Grey Warden met a particular healer, long before that healer ever had been anything the Thedas saw as important.





	1. Chapter 1

Trekking through dense forest was definitely _not_ on Vergil’s list of the most interesting things to do. The air around them seemed to thicken, rich with smells of earth, plants and something more. There was some kind of unrest, the unnatural silence and intrusive insects be damned. Even with the sunlight painting such a peaceful view, of greenery in bloom and shadows picturesquely creating moving shapes.

One would think, that the forest should have more sounds, of small animals moving or an occasional birds singing.

But Brecilian was lacking this right now, the ominous feeling of being watched making him uncomfortable. They had a reason for this excursion, a request to carry out. Find and kill the source of the werewolf curse, actually purging the Dalish clan staying in the area. Their Keeper promised to honor Grey Warden’s treaties no sooner, until the danger is staved off. That was his one and only condition for their party, if they wanted to get help of the clans in fight with Blight.

Vergil was skeptical about the amount of actual force the elves could bring in, weighting the effort needed to accomplish the feat versus benefits. Personally, he’d say no and move on, but Tierian was very verbal on the matter and left no doubts about his opinion. He was stubborn enough to be left behind and go on the search with remaining hunters. But he wasn’t alone with his feelings, Leliana and surprisingly Morrigan, on board with the idea of venturing into the forest, for the beast’s heart, which held the key to recovery of infected.

So, here they were, following their Dalish Warden, who’s seemed to revive upon stepping amidst the clan and forest in equal measure. Maybe it gave him the fragment of his past life, thus a piece of peace. He was much less fidgety and grumpy.

Vergil stopped thinking about his companion’s mental health, as something weird made him pause in his steps. He was sure that he felt some kind of perturbation in the air, and the magical kind. The veil here was thin all in itself, changing depending on the area and he was slowly getting used to the patterns and whispers, only heard clearly by him and Morrigan. To any other it was the wind’s hum in the leaves. But this, _this_ was a living mage pulling from the Fade. Either dangerous, waiting to ambush them or some unfortunate soul lost in the forest. He _hoped_ werewolves didn’t have mages, and at this point not a lot would surprise him. Darkspawn’s emissaries were enough of a headache to fight with.

The halt of his progress did bring others to stop as well, and Tierian only looked at his posture, standing with slightly glazed eyes, like hearing something. He unraveled his senses as well, in search for darkspawns nearby, and finding none, waited patiently for Vergil to explain himself. He had his answers soon.

* * *

When they cautiously arrived near the area of mage’s possible hiding space, they found no one around. Bushes and trees growing less thickly, leaving some place for a pretty clearing, but beside the view nothing out of ordinary.

Tierian sighed with irritation. “You must have been mistaken. There’s no one here.” He grumbled, eyes taking sharply on every crook of the forest surrounding them.

“As they couldn’t hide themselves when we approached.” Vergil snarkily responded, opening few clasps of his armor. The air was too stuffy, he was tired and annoyingly out of his depth here.

“There was some disturbance earlier.” Morrigan’s melodious tone cut in, before Tierian’s annoyed tirade about magical _“feelings”_ and delaying their progress. At the woman’s input, his mouth closed with astounding speed.

Vergil found it amusing.

“Though it’s gone now.” The witch added. “They must know something about cloaking their aura.” The mage Warden only grunted in response, looking around them. Green, bushes, green, earth, more bushes, trees. Nothing out of place. Only when they decided on venturing back to their right path, a tentative voice coming from far above the tree branches stopped them immediately.

“Uh… hello?” They glanced at each other and then up. “I gather you aren’t werewolves, yes?” The definitely male voice inquired. The branch shook lightly and there, among the leaves appeared a silhouette, with leather boots best visible.

_Another strayed Dalish?_ Vergil thought, as the party encountered two of wounded hunters earlier. Both of them escorted back to the camp.

Tierian was the first to answer.

“No werewolves, and I didn’t know they could talk. And who exactly are you?” Suspicious as always. It was rather obvious that no sane human would risk wandering so deeply in Brecilian. There was nothing of value here.

“I, ah, I’m staying with the clan.” The branch shook a little, and some too silent words were said. “Temporarily.” The person in a tree added. “My name’s Aether and to answer your inevitable question as _why_ I’m out in the forest, I had to collect some ingredients for the potions for the wounded. I’m a healer.” The voice clarified.

Vergil was silent all this time, subtly studying the surroundings for any pull of the veil. None came and he was ready to take this stranger’s words as truthful. Plus the accent betrayed the person as foreigner. Maybe another Dalish. They all had different speech pattern. For him, a tower mage used to _proper _common, Tierian was like that too, though he slowly changed how he spoke. Must be because of how long they traveled together.

“'Tis an interesting place to look after potion components.” Morrigan commented with malicious mirth, arms crossed at her chest.

“It was climb up or get shredded by the pack of cursed ones.” The person snapped. “And as I am decent at climbing up a tree, I do know I’m not the best going down.” He added more calmly. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Tierian only grimaced, huffing. “So how do you plan on getting down, exactly?”

There was a bit of silence from above. “I’d be grateful for your help with this matter.” The person sounded hopeful. “I have some things for barter, if you’d like?”

Now, that was something Vergil was interested in hearing. He came up closer to the tree trunk, staring up. Still, couldn’t make much of the mysterious healer.

Stuck in a tree.

Corners of his lips twitched slightly in amusement.

“And what precisely would you part with for help with getting down?” He asked, making sure to sound friendly enough.

“I have some potent elfroot potions?” The person sounded hesitant. “As for now, the only things I’ve got on me are some plants. Mostly useless for you.”

Vergil hummed, looking back at his companions. Neither of them seemed like an agile tree climber. Two warriors in heavy armors, a witch and himself. If only Zevran would be here now, the mage was sure he’d have no problem with both the climb up and down. No broken bones with him, that was clear.

Tierian sighed tiredly. “I’ve got to take off my armor, it’ll take awhile.” He groaned. “Are you _sure_ you can’t get down on your own?”

“I’d have done it ages ago if that was possible!” The person seemed annoyed by the situation now as much as the complaining Dalish Warden was.

Vergil thought for a moment. He had an idea, though, if the healer would accept it without much fuss was another question.

“If you’d jump I’d make sure to catch you.” He voiced it anyway.

“What? How?” The person asked, both skeptical and curious. “Yes, what are you thinking?” Tierian demanded, the bracers from his arms taken off. “Do you want him to plunge to his death?”

Vergil rolled his eyes at the jab. “I do have a plan.” He looked up again. “I can manipulate the gravity and break your fall before you’d collide with the ground.” He explained. “It’s force magic, taught in the circle. Completely safe.”

_If one knows what he’s doing and has a lot of practice,_ he didn’t say it out loud. Which he did in both circumstances.

“Oh. It _could_ work…” The person became silent for awhile. “If you’re sure. I’m ready to try if it means I can finally stand on flat ground.” He sounded confident enough. That was all Vergil needed.

Tierian stopped with strapping off his armor. “I don’t know if you’re insane or brilliant.”

“You have to wait and see, no?” Vergil smirked. “Definitely the latter, though. Now, out of the way, I need space and you lot don’t want to be caught in it. When I’ll tell you, jump in the direction of the wisps, alright?” He made sure his tone carried up to the branches.

“Alright.” Came the timid answer. Vergil didn’t blame him. That would be a leap of faith, and with a complete stranger? Good for the healer that he didn’t have bad intentions. “But wait up, I’ll throw my bag first.”

When Tierian caught a sack with admirable dexterity, it was Vergil’s turn to show off some skill. He walked in front of the tree, where the branches seemed to lessen in density, and focused on creating the force field. Starting as small, white pulsating orb, growing in solidity and blue hues. Soon, he stood with concentrated ball of light, ready to expand on command and bend the gravity for his use.

He exhaled slowly. “Here’s the wisp!” The Warden mage announced louder. “Tell me when you jump.”

“I see it!” The voice above responded with slight cheer. “Okay. Okay I’ve got this.” The branch rattled dangerously. “Ow.” More incoherent mumbling from above. Maybe the healer was praying to his gods. “Okay, jumping. Now!”

As the person came falling down, fast, _faster_ than Vergil anticipated, the force ball hovering near his hands expanded rapidly. The area bathed in white and blue light, for people out of it, shimmering and curving the view. But near the center, it slowed the space and even, a little, time.

Thankfully, it worked and successfully slowed down healer’s drop when he came into the field’s range.

Enough for Vergil to quickly cancel the spell and have him in his arms, quite literally. The Dalish’ head nearly collided with his own in all the haste, but he managed to steady him enough with hands on a slender waist, the healer’s fingers clutching at Vergil’s shoulders. After a moment he could stand on his own and with a huff and a smile, looking up, gazing at Vergil.

The close proximity didn’t seem to bother him for a while, and Vergil could take in all his features. And what a lovely shade of green was peering up at him, face with prominent cheekbones, reddened slightly, graceful slope of nose and such inviting plush lips. Tanned skin with countless freckles, hair in sunny shade of blond.

Delicate vallaslin lines under such expressive eyes.

Vergil tilted his head slightly to the side, his smirk growing. He saw a puzzlement in healer’s gaze, and then his cheeks started to get even redder.

_Delicious_.

Slim and shorter than Vergil, clothed with, what he could see, a Dalish light gear.

“I, ah, thank you for the help.” He stuttered slightly, squirming in the mage’s hold. Vergil let him go reluctantly, but not without a delicate stroke on his back.

Up, to the other’s shoulders.

He wouldn’t want to burn his chances with improper touch so quickly and inelegantly.

“My pleasure.” He purred, looking straight at these exquisite eyes. His words seemed to bring a light shudder to healer’s form. Or it could be the aftershocks because of the situation. But cherry red face and averted gaze would tell otherwise.

_A shy one._

“I wouldn’t mind of talking about eventual rewards later.” Vergil spoke charmingly. “Of _any_ kind.” He added suggestively, tongue quickly wetting his upper lip.

That seemed to catch healer’s attention, but only for second, as he stepped back from Vergil completely.

“I’ll make sure to prepare the _material goods_,” he stressed the words, “when I get back to the camp. It should be enough.” He said, his voice on a colder edge.

Vergil sighed internally. Looks like this wouldn’t end as he hoped.

Nevermind. He’d take rejection with grace. Plenty other fish out there for him to catch, and so on and so forth.

“As you wish.” The mage replied with a small smile.

Tierian insisted on walking the healer, _Aether_, back to the camp. And after silent travel to the area, in case of werewolves laying in ambush, they parted ways. Vergil and his companions ventured back to the forest, in search of the mystical Witherfang. He hoped to be back in one piece and soon. The forest wasn’t a place he’d remember with _much_ fondness.


	2. Chapter 2

Elfroot green eyes flicked over those who had been injured in the last werewolf attack on the clan. Those who were surviving their injuries but… they were in so much pain, and there was nothing more he could do beyond wait.

They needed _something_ but the cure was something that Aether didn’t know.

And Zathrian…

Zathrian had been acting particularly odd since the clan arrived in the forest and became trapped there, unable to leave least they face another assaults from the werewolves. He cared about his clan, yes, but Aether couldn’t help but feel that the Keeper was hiding something.

It increasingly nagged at Aether, chewed at him from the inside, but he couldn’t confront the Keeper about it.

He couldn’t because he was an outsider to the clan already, a foreigner even despite still being Dalish, a guest who came to study and help as much as he could. Zathrian’s healing magic was second to none and Aether could only hope to be able to achieve that level of skill in his lifetime, and Zathrian, despite his reluctance, had taught him much.

But the lessons, Zathrian told him yesterday, had come to an end.

The Keeper intended to go into the forest, alone, leaving his First to lead the clan in his absence should he not come back, and Aether was welcome to stay under her approval, to learn from her if she wished.

Zathrian had been gone for hours and Aether lingered by the wounded.

He had done all that he could with what he had, with the plants he had gathered three days ago, and now all he could do was wait and watch.

Quietly, the healer’s gaze slipped over to the bag he had settled among the grass beside the makeshift apothecary table.

Ten potent elfroot potions waited in it, for those who had rescued him in the forest to come back, the bargain he had made in order to get help out of that tree safely, least he try his luck at hopping from tree to tree and hopefully he managed to get closer to the ground without hitting every branch on the way down. An easy way to break every bone in his body and become easy prey to the sylvans and wolves, both were and other.

Instead…

He jumped.

Right into the waiting arms of a man with gorgeous amber eyes.

It was like every cheesy romance novel he had ever skimmed through back in Orlais, at least until his rescuer opened his mouth about the reward all the while looking at him like a meal.

The thought alone made Aether’s face flush with annoyance.

Angrily huffing, the healer started to pace, eyes flicking away from the apothecary table and the makeshift infirmary and out to the rest of the Dalish camp.

The group that had rescued him, Grey Wardens apparently, had other companions that had stayed behind, and much to Aether’s embarrassment, he had a history with one. A short history, just the memory of a night in a tavern, of flirting and drinking and falling into bed with someone tan, and blond, and elven, and Antivan.

Zevran, Aether recalled.

Every time the Antivan met his gaze the last three days since the new group showed up, it was with a playful, knowing smile that made Aether’s ears burn. Thankfully, beyond pleasantries, the topic of their one night was not brought up. They honestly hadn’t expected to see each other again when they parted ways that morning well over a month ago.

Strange to think that it really had been three days since the party of Wardens reentered the forest after escorting him back to the camp, back to safety.

Aether wondered about _their_ safety though…

Then… he felt it.

He and Lanaya and Elora all looked up from what they were doing in unison, eyes rooting to the same spot in the forest, a sudden and sharp pull on the Veil, of something so completely wrapped in magic being unraveled so quickly that only mages would ever sense the event, and perhaps any mage who visited the area would feel it rippling in years to come…

It felt like a violation in and of itself.

And Aether wondered…

About the werewolves.

* * *

Aether would admit he felt remotely slighted by Zathrian when he returned, the man hording his secrets as he worked on creating the cure that the Wardens helped him collect, all the while urging the healer to focus his attention on the immediate wounded: Aether’s own rescuers.

Strange how he was once again in close quarters with them, not that he terribly minded as he watched the Dalish Warden limp over to the rest of their companion and then flop down onto the ground by their personal fire, groaning as he slowly propped one foot up. Aether had an inkling that something was at least strained, possibly broken, but he didn’t have an opportunity to approach the small subsect of the camp before he heard a vaguely familiar voice.

“Aether, was it?”

Black hair and fair skin and amber eyes, just like he recalled.

The only difference now was the fresh and bloody wound on the Circle mage’s face.

“Yes,” Aether answered. “Would you like me to heal that?”

He nodded politely, remaining respectful this time, “I would prefer risking a minor scar than a very visible one,” he stated, “my healing would scar for sure.”

That made one of the healer’s brows raise in curiosity.

A blood mage?

Blood magic was not something Aether personally wanted to touch but some people were different. As long as no harm was done for the sake of malice, he truly couldn’t complain.

“Healing is not always an easy school of magic to grasp,” Aether commented, reaching up and he watched as the other mage winced slightly but stayed as still as he could under the healer’s attention. “When I’m done, you won’t believe you got hurt at all.”

Ather’s confidence seemed to amuse the Warden vaguely. “That’s the attitude.”

“More than attitude is skill.”

After that is silence as they allow the magic to surge into life, gentle and warm and calm and soothing with every stroke of his thumb over the injury, until, finally, Aether retreated and let Vergil wipe the blood from his face while the healer retrieved a shard of mirror from his pack, allowing the mage to see the results.

He was very satisfied with the results, the spot completely bare of any sign that the wound ever existed. Like it never happened. “Perhaps I could repay you for this feat? Would some ancient texts reading interest you?”

An unnecessary offer but one that none the less made Aether’s green eyes light up with interest. “You found some?”

“I did,” he admitted, “they are in surprisingly good condition, unless werewolves started writing their own thesis’.”

A humorous thought, but as much as Aether wanted, he still had a job to do.

“Your companion still needs healing. If the offer still stands when I’m done…”

And he smirked, an expression that was almost second-nature to that face. “It will still stand.”

And it certainly did.

* * *

Despite the fact that the Wardens now had the Dalish elves as allies to their treaties, the party did not leave the following day as they originally seemed to have planned.

This was because of their Dalish Warden, Tierian Mahariel of the Sabrae clan, who, Aether later realized, was incredibly homesick. This adventure he was on as a Warden was by no choice of his own, in fact he was only a Warden because the alternative was dying. He wanted to stay and soak in the atmosphere of something familiar for just a _little_ bit longer before he would be willing to go back, like a man dying of thirst drinking his fill from an oasis before pushing on once again.

Their stay had many benefits.

Their bard, Leliana, was able to learn Dalish stories from Sarel. Morrigan was curious about the people as well. Zevran wanted to indulge in some leisure. And Vergil Surana had some ancient texts that he was getting help translating with the help of the wandering Dalish healer.

Only Alistair seemed to be eager to get going.

But he was easily outvoted and easy to pacify with good quality halla cheese.

Besides, Tierian said, it was just for a few days.

And for the first couple days, Vergil and Aether often sat together, pouring over the texts, the healer translating what he recognized and also asking questions about the Circle, which Vergil expressed that the Circle really was only good for the book collection it had. Aether had never seen a true library before, and it made him even more curious.

It was the forest that eventually called to Aether, safer now than it had been before, and he asked Vergil to show him the places he had told him of, the tombstones and the ruins, the Grand Old Oak, and the hermit’s home. There was knowledge to be learned and knowledge to share, and if there was anything that the two of them both seemed to thrive for in equal measure, it was just that: knowledge.

The forest was alive with noise, no longer silent from the threat of the werewolves, and Aether was grateful for the peace that it brought with it, the scent of river-silt rich in the air as they neared the source. He collected plants along the way, tucked neatly into pouches for later care when they returned. It would take days for them to explore all the places that Vergil mentioned, and it didn’t bother Aether.

It was the sound of quick feet that drew Aether’s attention from his most recently picked plant, and Vergil’s eyes met his only briefly before a set of wolves burst out from the bushes, fangs bared and ready to do damage.

But they were not helpless.

It was lightning and ice in the background of Aether’s mind as he concentrated, tugging at strands of Fade beneath the ground like spiderwebs, seeping his control into the roots and earth itself before he _pulled_ and the very nature that surrounded him became his own weapon, wrapping around those they captured like pythons before _crushing_ them and dragging them down to feed the floral.

And when it was quiet, Aether looked up, and found Vergil’s eyes on him, muted surprise on his face.

And a playful smile made itself at home on Aether’s lips.

“Can’t let my brave Warden rescuer have _all_ the fun, now can I?”


	3. Chapter 3

Vergil was, what a lot people would call, vain. 

Travel or no, he cared about his appearances a great deal, taking baths almost every day, even if it was hard to find a body of water to use it comfortably. 

But he was a mage, he had his ways. He didn’t skip on his hair and skin rituals, evenings reserved for relaxing after hard day. It was his way of unwinding and sorting out his thoughts and events of the day. Beside Leliana, only Zevran seemed to understand the amount of effort and it’s importance one needed to make himslef look presentable and _respectable_. Looks were essential in gaining reputation, crucial in how others _thought_ of you and _how treated_ you. 

And, despite the quest he was now on, Vergil liked for his body to be as long as it was possible, in one piece.

Without any significant damages. 

He acknowledged the probability of injuries and scarring, but wasn’t elated, at all, when he felt the split on his face. Courtesy of stray and sharp as blade sylvan’s branch. It came at him too fast for the mage to react, smacked him in the face, and left slightly dazed with a furiously pulsing and bleeding wound. He knew that his try on healing would end in hideous scarring, and he hoped to receive the aid of Dalish’ healers, or if only a balm to soothe the injury.

But, what he got, was far more than he expected. The healer, they rescued few days ago, offered him his magic and true to his word, the effect was, to say mildly, _admirable. _

There was nothing on Vergil’s face, that could tell about an ugly wound he was sporting just a couple of hours ago. 

Nothing. 

_He was intrigued. _

Interested enough, that he was a step before he offered to give away ancient texts he had stumbled upon in werewolves’ den. The Dalish healer, Aether, would probably find them more useful. Vergil would have to wait to go back to the circle, and get permission to use the library and hope he’d get the helpful materials to even _skim_ with translations. 

Or ask for help the native, who, perchance, would be nice enough and share the knowledge. 

The chances of the latter were slim to none. 

But. 

On impulse, the mage made an offer to go through the texts _together,_ as a thanks for saving his face (_literally in this case_) and Aether seemed to be curious as well.

And it was almost two days they devoted, pouring over the old papers, lost in their own world whenever Aether had the time to sit with the Warden. 

It was a pleasure to work with someone, who was equally fascinated and absorbed by deciphering the unknown.

_Vergil was intrigued._

But, after Aether’s display of his other talents in the forest, he was also charmed. 

When he thought he had worked the blond out, the healer proved him wrong. 

Vergil was surprised at Aether’s demonstration of power, followed by cheeky expression and words at his slightly dumbfounded state.

_“Can’t let my brave Warden rescuer have all the fun, now can I?”   
_

Indeed.

That left him with the want to know _more. _

And he let his gaze to linger longer on Aether’s handsome face, amused smile stretching his lips.

“Maybe you would be interested in even more fun?” He asked nonchalantly, dusting off his sleeve. “A little adventure.” Vergil clarified at the healer’s silence and blond brows lifted in question. 

“I told you about the chamber with spirits and piece of ancient armor in ruins, yes?” Aether’s gaze lighted up with curiosity and he nodded. “Well, in the forest we encountered two more tombstones with unreadable inscriptions. Similar to the one in the ruins.”

“You think they hold other pieces? “

“That would make sense. Besides, you’re a specialist of ancient readings,” he complimented him sincerely, “and I seem to recall the place of one of the tombstones.” Vergil smirked, when Aether’s cheeks pinked slightly. “Even when the forest looks the same.”

“It’s not the sa- ah, forget it.” The Dalish protested quietly. Then he squinted his eyes slightly, looking at him with playful suspicion. “If forest looks the same to you, how would you know which path to take?”

_Oh, and if it wasn’t an opening he waited for? _

Vergil stepped closer to the healer, who stood his ground, observing his moves. When he was close enough into Aether’s personal space, he leaned in, purposely lowering his voice and murmured straight to the healer’s ear. 

“You want to know?” At a delicate nod of the blond’s head, he continued, his breath tickling Aether’s ear and neck. 

The long ear twitched slightly. 

“There’s a magic residue I can feel, thanks to this one piece I held earlier.” Vergil walked around Aether, standing at the man’s back, his hand ghosting near his hip, fingers gently resting at the belt. 

The healer stiffened at first, but relaxed enough to allow the touch. Still, the Warden didn’t dare push his luck more than that, and he resumed the chain of thought, speaking to the other ear. 

“We’ve got to go in that direction.” The hand on Aether’s waist turned him gently to the right way. A glance at Aether’s face revealed another shade of red on his cheeks. 

Surprisingly, the healer turned his face and their lips were not connected only because of a mere distance. It was Vergil’s turn to feel the other’s breath on his skin, as the Dalish spoke. 

“And you’ll be my guide in this adventure, hmm?” He asked in low whisper, looking briefly at the mage’s mouth and as Vergil was on verge of leaning in and claiming these tempting lips, fingers clenching at the healer’s clothes, Aether gracefully slipped away, turning to face him properly. His green eyes held mischievous gleam, as he gestured at the once more startled Warden. 

“Lead the way and I’ll make sure to have your back.” Aether smiled and Vergil shook his head with an amused snort. “In case of some ambushes, of course.” The healer added.

“Of course.”

_Oh, he liked that one. _He thought, as they made their way to the tombstone area, magic humming on the edge of perceptibility.

He liked and he wanted even _more._

* * *

As it turned out, ancient seals should be left_ in peace.   
_

_Unbroken._

Vergil ducked another arrow, which the skeleton archer aimed at him. 

_Or they should bring someone with swords at them, _he thought, as he brought another ice spike into the skeleton’s torso, successfuly stopping it from swinging the greatsword it wielded. 

It also crumbled to dust, confirming it’s death. 

Second one. 

He heard Aether’s fighting with the other skeletal foe, a sword and shield. He dared a glance at the healer’s direction and any doubts of the mage being helpless at the moment were dispelled. Aether held his own, magic glowing in his hands and forcing his enemy to succumb to it. 

Another arrow whizzed past his side and Vergil focused once more on the remaining archer. He concentrated and sent a small ball of lightning, which hit the skeleton to it’s chest, enlargening and expanding in houndreds of small lightning chains. The rags on the archer caught fire and the bones collapsed on the dirt in heap, the spirit haunting them expelled. The mage exhaled, and heard the thud’s of another skeleton crumbling. He turned to the healer, a slightly tired smile on his lips. Aether smiled in answer, leaning lightly on his staff. 

“I must admit, it wasn’t the bes-” Aether’s eyes widened, taking at something behind Vergil’s back, and the Warden had only a moment before he turned himself to see, and not before he felt the wave of something ominous, pulling the veil so strongly, he felt it in his skull, his spine, _all his bones._

His eyes met the angry red ones. 

A tall figure of armored monster, a massive sword in one hand and the second with enormous shield. Another skeleton warrior, but this one even more deadly. 

It stared at him a moment longer and suddenly brought it’s arm as to strike but instead it pulled. 

“Watch out!” Aether’s cry came too late, as Vergil felt something catching at his body, like a giant fist, and forcibly hauling him into the air, fast, straight into the creature’s long sword. 

_Force, it’s force magic,_ he thought, not in position of doing anything as panickly trying to find the spark of the shimmering shield the gem showed him not so long ago. 

There was a chance it’d soften the blow, but not completely avoid the sword. 

He briefly hoped it wouldn’t pierce anything vital. And as he was close enough to see the bleeding red of two glowing holes concentrated at him, the malicious grin of lipsless teeth of the behemoth, close, _closer, oh the pain, just not the heart,_ he felt another pull, weaker, before he collided with a cage of vines. 

It sprouted in his path of being unceremoniously stabbed. 

Caught in the roots, dazed by impact and struggling with getting back his stolen breathing, he faintly heard yelled _“Get down!”._

The Warden didn’t hesitate to execute the command, getting abruptly to his knees, and not a second longer a bundle of rocks hurled above him, hitting the monstreous figure at it’s helmed head. It got down instantly, and the vines withdrew themselves from Vergil. He heard hurried footsteps behind him, but he staggered to his feet and angrily brought the ice upon the lying creature, piercing it and nailing to the ground. 

It twitched once and turned to dust like others, leaving the piece of armor behind. He staggered once more, when Aether’s hand came upon his shoulders, face peering into his. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, the worry marking his words and accent thickening his speech. His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, quickly checking for visible injury. Vergil leaned slightly into the touch, the breathing once more possible. He felt a stab of pain near his side, with every intake of air. “I, ah, I think I have cracked rib.”

“Sit down”, Aether commanded, and got to work without delay, palms glowing and brows furrowed in concentration. Vergil focused on the feeling of the magic flowing through him, looking at the healer’s face in such close proximity. He stood his ground in the fight. 

And saved him. 

Again. 

“That’s the second time you’ve done this.” Vergil murmured, making Aether glance up at him. 

“Healing you?” He smiled lightly, the fingers losing their glow. His hand lingered on Vergil’s side, toying with the fabric of his armor. The healer in his haste kneeled between Vergil’s legs. Their faces were close enough to lean in and meet in a kiss. 

Vergil closed his eyes briefly. 

“Saving me,” he responded, looking at Aether with lenient smile. “Healing too.” The mage added, bringing his hand to the Dalish’ nape. “Be careful, I can get used to it.”

“Dangerous indeed,” Aether said, and he seemed to come up with the decision, as he closed the distance between them, letting their lips connect. 

And what was a delicate and hesitant slide of two mouths, quickly became something more heated, teeth and tongues, with both of them clutching at each other. 

With both of them making soft sounds of a thirsted man, getting his first sip of crystal water. Not enough to quell the thirst completely, but to get a taste. 

And when they separated, slightly out of breath and with reddened lips, they both smiled, their foreheads coming together without words. 

As it was natural.

“Ready for another adventure?” Vergil whispered, and pecked Aether’s mouth again. “This one shouldn’t have _as_ many undead.”

The healer’s lips twitched up in a smile, answering with his own quick kiss. 

“I can save you third time a day, no problem. Just lead the way.” 

Vergil’s laugh the one of many sounds at the forest surrounding them. 

Peaceful at the moment, with the light slowly darkening and changing a day into night.

_Interesting, brilliant and mysterious._

Just how Vergil liked.


	4. Chapter 4

“She’s beautiful… It’s a shame you had to kill her.”

Aether’s fingertips trailed fondly over the ridges of the dragon’s skull, entranced by the sensation, the view. He marveled at her in wonder and in awe as he took in details of her and wondered what she would have looked like if she had lived to become a High Dragon like so many others he had seen from a distance.

“She gave us little choice,” Vergil admitted, not far from the healer.

And, quietly, the Dalish stood.

“I know.”

He admired her for a moment longer before stepping away from the dragon’s remains, allowing Vergil to lead him further into the ruins, softly glowing wisps they had summoned floating ahead of them, casting eerie light and stretching shadows. They left behind the moonlight of the dragon’s lair through the broken roof as they went deeper, and as they walked, the Warden told of their discoveries, area by are, as Aether had asked.

Aether wondered if he hadn’t brought enough parchment and charcoal for the adventure, with how many etching rubbings he had done.

And as they stepped into the burial chamber, Aether stopped in his tracks in awe.

“_Din'anshiral_,” he whispered, “an elven _burial_ chamber. I’ve never seen one before.”

This was a find that he most certainly did not have enough parchment for as he stroked his fingers over the sarcophagus in the center of the room.

The place of honor.

The aforementioned mother.

He wondered if she was the spiritual mother as well.

A wisp swam over to him at his will and he peered into the tomb, his lips spreading into a grin at the sight.

Etchings. Unique ones.

And in his hurry to lean into the tomb to try to get rubbings, he almost tipped over and fell right in, if not for the strong arms that immediately encircled his waist, heroically saving him from sniffing some very ancient dust.

“As much as I appreciate your dedication, I’d prefer you out of such places,” Vergil stated. “I haven’t heard of any positive health properties from inhaling ancient ashes so you probably should avoid that.”

The healer smiled sheepishly before glancing over his shoulder at the other elf, so incredibly close.

There was strength beneath that armor and quiet wonder of wanting to know just _how_ much sent his blood singing in his veins, cheeks coloring against his wishes.

“I probably should,” he quietly agreed. “I’ll be quick about getting the rubbing then. See if we can find a more… _comfortable_ spot after?”

And in the wisp light, he saw a slow smirk cross Vergil’s lips.

And oh how they did find a more comfortable spot after.

* * *

Perhaps it was because of the cold of the ruins.

Or perhaps it was just how the Warden was.

Either way, Aether woke up trapped by a strong pair of arms around him, legs tangled with the other, the cool of the air against his bare skin, marked with bites and sucked bruises that littered his body, lingering signs of just what they had done to each other hours before with the telltale ache in his lower back making it all the more real.

He could still remember the grit of the wall against his shoulders when Vergil fucked him against it, teasing out as many of Aether’s restrained sounds as he could before the Warden finally _asked_ and oh _Mythal_ he couldn’t keep himself after that.

Time after time, it seemed like Aether would just barely catch his breath and Vergil would be ready for another round, and true to the healer’s stubbornness, he was determined to try to keep up.

No one had ever quite ruined his voice so well.

Not the way Vergil did.

It had been a teasing thought, lingering in the forefront of both of their minds until finally they reached that spot in the ruins and Vergil decided they could make camp there for the night, too late to safely trek through the forest back to the others, and besides, they had everything they needed right there to be set up quite comfortably. Wood for a fire, fresh water, there was even starlight flitering down through one of the high cracks in the ceiling.

It had been through that crack that drew the cold.

And then it was just the right excuse to warm each other up the best they knew how.

But now, sunlight streamed in through that crack, dusky with dawn and the smell of morning dew carried on the wind.

A small squeak escaped the healer as he slowly stretched, only for the arms around him to tighten briefly.

And then he heard the change in heartbeat under his ear.

It seemed his movement had woken the Warden.

And Aether sleepily lifted his head.

“Good morning,” he whispered hoarsely.

In a daze, Vergil slowly roused, amber eyes hazy as they opened and after a few blinks, they cleared and settled on his own face. The grip the Warden had on him slowly unraveled itself as he rasped, “Is it morning yet?”

“Dawn has arrived, yes,” Aether answered, before a soft hum caught in his throat at the feel of Vergil softly touching one of the marks he had left behind, amber eyes trailing over each one. The Warden had his own fair share including angry red lines dug into his shoulders and the healer felt the lethargic tug of interest pooling in his stomach.

“One would think you had as much a good time as I last night,” Vergil teased softly, leaning forward and nipping one of the marks on his throat, “but we should go back to the camp before my companions send a search party.”

Despite the words though, the Warden did not pull back, a warm tongue dragging over the sensitive marks. “Though I must say, I wouldn’t mind repeating the experience,” he purred below his ear.

The healer’s face scorched with warmth, embarrassed and pleased at the offer and he turned his head to bump noses with the other.

“That was good,” he mildly teased, “let’s try for even _better_ this time, yes?”

* * *

The Warden party was leaving in the morning, Aether found out when he and Vergil had returned to the camp late that afternoon, and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the fact.

He had enjoyed Vergil’s company far more than he originally thought he would, astonished at the brilliance of progress they had made with the ancient texts and theories over the meanings behind the etchings.

If the mage lingered longer, perhaps they could have made more progress.

But the Warden’s couldn’t stay.

They had a mission to accomplish, to stop the Blight, and to delay them any further would be counterproductive.

And when morning came, Aether met Vergil at the edge of the camp while the rest of the company was pulling together the finishing touches of getting ready to be on the road.

“Survive this, hero, and you’ll have tales I’ll be dying to hear,” Aether gently teased.

Vergil gave him a sly smirk, “didn’t you hear? Heros always die. I don’t intend to.”

Aether snorted in amusement.

“Then what will you be? Not a villain, I’m sure.”

“You’ll have to see for yourself then.”

His voice had dropped down to a murmur before the taller elf closed the distance between them, fingers curling in Aether’s hair and their lips met in a kiss, sweet until the playful nip at his lip, a breath shuddering in the healer’s chest.

“Safe travels for you,” he murmured, Vergil’s breath warm against his mouth.

Aether swallowed as he ignored the heat on his face, smiling slightly as he gave Vergil’s hair a playful tug.

“And you, Warden.”

And then, finally, the two parted ways.

Aether watched Vergil’s back as the man join the rest of his group and without hesitation, they all walked out of the camp, onwards to their next adventure.

The few days with Vergil had been an adventure of its own, and he sighed.

It wouldn’t be long now before Aether would be on his way to his next clan to learn, now that Zathrian would no longer teach him, and he stepped back to his little place of residence to check on things.

Something was different though.

His bag seemed different.

And upon opening it, his eyes widened in surprise.

And then he smiled.

The Warden had left him a parting gift of the ancient texts they had been working on together. Vergil’s Ancient Texts.

Well.

If the hero lived through this, Aether would certainly pay him a visit.

He would have to make some progress on the translations before then.

But he had a good feeling about all this.

And he looked forward to the next time they met.


End file.
